Archive for December, 2011



All I Want is One More Morning

I awake as light spills in
hear water splash the basin
and imagine your attention
to your face, lathering to shave

I curl around my pillows
draw yours closer, listen
as your wing-tip shoes brush
the plush beige rug

Morning sleepy head, you say
and bend to give a kiss
as I rush a smile into your wide embrace
press my palm into your
yellow tie, downy touch.

Ready for your morning meeting
you’re not moving toward the door…

after you are gone
I know that should I have a million days
ten million nights, I will forever
know the touch of yellow silk

Enough and Not Enough

There was time enough
To take a walk
To sip a drink
Even to listen to you read
That story you are writing

There was time enough
To organize my poems
To ask Ms Florence for her help
Even to answer your question
About that unrecorded check

There was time enough
For three trips to eat
A visit to the mail room
Even to listen to the old man
Rant about his breathy pain

Still there were four tasks
Left undone to
Be folded into tomorrow
When there will again be

Time enough for what I love
And insufficient minutes for
Dusting, ironing, sweeping,
Or clearing over-stuffed drawers.

Ode to Atlanta

This city, it is mine,
has been as long as time.

I ride six lanes with verve,
round the juncture of the curve,

looking down the length of Peachtree Street
past the years and stories sweet.

This is my home alone,
these buildings rising ever higher, the drone

of cars and more — masterful these people milling
through noisy parks, green walks, card swiping,

rushing ever in or out or back. Today
they still the busy ones, unlike me, here at play,

dreaming of my city life, my well-steered view,
clearing trouble, passing, pointing out the way —

this place, the whole of it, Atlanta and its dogwoods, clean-up crews,
its stretch in all directions, bluesy darkened clubs, its church hard pews,

sunsets showing off above, skyline shadows falling, drivers slowing —
all mine as much as wrinkled skin, and my fingers typing.

This city, it is mine,
will be as long as time.


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Season’s Tradition



writing poetry to the rhythm

of this weeks practiced plays


running through the tackled crunch, passes

going for the touch


no way, not today they say

and yet there is the pile

and no one signaling ~



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On Traditions


We celebrate the

spirit of Christmas, always


adding to the old

something new, to surprise

our crew.


~a plan we have seen through

some forty years, all

counting now~


Bow-wrapped exchanges,

emptying loaded stockings,

all continues – all


morning, coffee served

with hot biscuits drenched in creamed

pork sausage gravy.


Hope this year’s new will

not involve my run for that

forgotten item.


And I would tell you,

really I would, what is new ~

except for their eyes.


May you find a glow

in your family’s eyes, delight.


Jane Penland Hoover

December 9, 2011

Poetic Bloomings

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While You Were Gone


Clouds moved in and through

Herons caught the big cat fish

Robins stripped berries


Clouds move in and on

Birdsong strung along

Monarchs winged their way


Clouds no longer roam

Visions of your limb-long stride

Bring  you home to  me


Jane Penland Hoover

December 8, 2011


Wed 2011 Prompt

While you were gone PA



Grandson’s Visit


Still –

While you were gone

John came – he the one

who rarely found his way

into the ring of family


Still –

While you were gone

to that distant coma

John came – he to hold

your hand, sit and sit

beside the metal rails


Still –

I recall blue eyes, the

rounds he watched, this silent

time awakening the core

while he waited now.


Jane Penland Hoover

December 8, 2011



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Tunnel concealment

Cool breath of dreamy currents

Yawning opens day



Tolerant deep sleep

Escapes me the whole night long

Your eyes lie beside



Clouds disarmed resolve ~

Flooding creeks rush tomorrow

Wash some distant shore



Over the river

striking glance of shimmering dance

…. Thunderous applause


Jane Penland Hoover

December 2, 2011

Haiku at PA

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